Avalon, I haven't forgotten about you

[maderr]

I remember you asked for Gille & Stregoni. I decided it was high time to finally just the whole fucking story, and finally be done with it. So, I am trying. Rewrote the prologue and first chapter x.x Man, some stories write quickly, and others make me pull my hair out in frustration. It has taken me all bloody day to write a measely eleven pages, argh.

Still, I have begun. It should get easier from here, assuming I do not lose my focus.

Lobelia
(prologue)

Aubrey squealed happily as mama gave him another bilberry, popping it into his mouth and chewing enthusiastically, thanking her with a smile, displaying lips and teeth that had been stained blue from the berry juice.

Mama smiled back, pretty and delicate, smelling like flowers and cake. Next to her, Mina hummed one of her lullabies.

He held out his hand for another berry. "Please, mama?"

"One more," Mama said, holding up one finger to make certain he understood.

Aubrey nodded, and with another thanks, pushed the last berry into his mouth, clapping his hands in glee.

Berries eaten, he picked up the flowers they had bought for sissy. She was sick again, and had not been able to go with him and mama and Mina, so they had bought her flowers. "What called?" he asked.

"Lobelia," Mina said.

"Bee-yah," Aubrey repeated dutifully. "Smell pretty."

"Yes, they do," Mama replied, smiling and reaching out to touch the flowers lightly, then moving to brush back a floppy curl from Aubrey's forehead. "Sissy will like them very much."

Aubrey nodded, and looked again at the basket of pretty purple flowers. He couldn't wait to show her, and then they could help Mama and Mina put them in the garden. He liked playing in the garden, digging holes and pulling up bad flowers.

The carriage bounced and jerked and rumbled beneath them, making him knock back and forth between Mina and Mama, but Aubrey didn't mind. Soon they would be home and he could give the flowers to Sissy and show Daddy what else they got in town and then they could have dinner and maybe Daddy would let him have more wine like a Big Person.

He almost fell over when the carriage abruptly stopped, but Mina caught him and held him tight.

Strange voices came from outside the carriage, and he thought he heard them say Mama's name, but it didn't sound like Daddy's voice, and he and Mina were the only ones that called Mama by her name.

"Stay here, sweetheart," Mama said, and kissed his brow.

"Don't go, Mama," Aubrey said, letting go of the flowers to grip Mama's skirts, cause she only called him that when Something Bad was going to happen. "Stay."

"Shh, sweetheart. Mama and Mina are just going to talk to some friends, all right? She'll be right back." With that, she pushed open the carriage door and vanished outside, Mina following right behind her.

Aubrey stayed inside, drawing up his legs and holding them against his chest.

He let go to cover his ears as a lot of shouting and screaming and other scary sounds started up, tears rolling down his cheeks cause this was Bad and he wanted Daddy cause Daddy always made scary stuff not be scary anymore.

Then the sounds stopped, and then he heard a lot of noises that he knew belonged to horses.

He waited for Mama and Mina to come back.

When a long, long time passed and they didn't come, he slowly pushed the door open and cried "Mama!" like he always did when a monster snuck under his bed and he needed her to scare it away. She always came in her nightdress and holding a candle and got down and yelled at the monsters.

Only she didn't come this time.

Sniffling, wiping at his yucky nose, Brey bent down and slowly climbed down from the carriage. Without help, it was hard, cause the carriage was high, high off the ground and the steps were for Big People, not him.

He slipped and fell, landing in the dirt of the path. Scrambling to his feet, he looked around anxiously for Mama, but it was getting dark and was hard to see and—

Oh, there she was. Sleeping? Why was mommy sleeping? Mina was sleeping too…

He ran over to them, and dropped down next to Mama, putting his hands on her to shake her awake like he sometimes had to do in the morning when she didn't get up right away.

Only his hands came away wet, and he wondered if Mama had spilled something. It was dark, but he kinda thought it looked like something red. Frowning, he went back to shaking Mama, but she never woke up.

It was really really dark when he heard more horses coming, and when he turned he saw lanterns swinging in the dark – then Daddy's voice broke through, and suddenly the dark and Mama and Mina sleeping wasn't as scary.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

"Brey!" Daddy's voice growled in the dark, and he almost thought for a moment that Daddy sounded scared, but that was impossible because Daddy wasn't scared of anything.

Then Daddy was picking him up, and Aubrey hugged him tight. "Daddy, Mama is sleeping and won't wake up."

"I know, Brey," Daddy said, and his voice sounded funny, almost like Daddy was crying, but Daddy didn't cry. "Come on, Brey, let's get you home."

"Mama? Mina?"

But Daddy didn't answer, even when Aubrey kept asking, which made Aubrey start crying again and he wanted Mama and Mina to wake up and to be home in bed or playing in the garden.

He cried and cried, all the way home, until Nurse showed up and took him and told him to drink from his little cup and Aubrey suddenly felt tired and only remembered Nurse picking him up again and heading for the stairs.

Forget Me Not
(chapter one)

Aubrey shivered and drew his cloak more tightly around his shoulders, tugging the fur-lined hood up just a bit more, wishing home was not still an hour or so away.

He could, of course, simply use the carriage – but he'd much rather freeze to death, which he was quite nicely proving.

The wind picked up, making him grimace, but after three days of travel, one hour more would not kill him. Not unless the snow resumed falling, but thankfully the sky seemed to clear for that to happen anytime soon.

Sighing softly, he twisted around to examine the carriage behind, which was packed with the majority of his things. The rest would follow by wagon more slowly, mostly a few small pieces of furniture and crates of books, warm-weather clothing and other things he would not need right away. Those things he did require, or simply refused to be without, were packed into the carriage.

Including the dog rose he was bringing his sister, snitched from the school greenhouse. He didn't think she had a dog rose yet, though she very nearly had every rose known to the world and a few unique to the Sangre gardens.

He frowned, thinking of the home he had not seen in five years. His father, Lord Karl Bathory, Earl of Sangre, had not been pleased when his son and heir had decided to depart to follow his studies, rather than remain at home to focus upon the family estate.

His sister had been rather unhappy as well, though she at least had been understanding and forgiving. Still, he did wonder at his reception. He'd sent word ahead that he was returning, but received not so much as a single note in reply.

It made him nervous, even as it did not surprise him.

Sighing again, he took out his pocket watch and flipped it open, staring at the minute family portrait painted with meticulous care. It was old, a copy of the family portrait which had once hung in the grand salon, now buried away in the attic somewhere per his father's instructions. It was of his parents, himself at age four, and his sister at two.

Not quite two years after the portrait had been painted and hung, his mother and her Pet had been brutally murdered by bandits while returning from a trip to the little village near their family seat. He had, apparently, been with them. Aubrey did not recall it.

His father had often said that his lingering fear of being inside carriages came from that night.

To Aubrey's mind, it was also when his family had ceased to be one. He had vague memories of a much warmer father, though they were fuzzy and, he felt, probably all made up. The servants had told him stories of his parents, how warm and loving they had been, but he had never been able to match the stories to the cold man who spent all his time locked away in his bedroom or study, emerging only to find fault with someone and administer suitable punishment.

He wondered what his reception would be, if there would be any sort of reception at all, or if he would merely see his father over the dinner table as though not a day had passed from the moment of his leaving.

Was Camilla all right? He had written her often, as well as Stregoni, but both had been annoyingly vague on the matter of her condition. Not wanting him to worry, likely, but all it did was make him worry that much more.

He thought again of the dog rose, it's vibrant pink petals, and hoped it was secured well against the biting cold.

The sharp tinkling of jingle bells drew him from his brooding, and he looked up as he came round the bend in the road – and broke into a smile as he saw who was ahead of him.

No matter how many years might pass, there would never be any mistaken the vibrant, chaotic mass of orange-red curls of Stregoni Benefici.

"Hail, stranger," he said cheerfully, shoving back his hood so he was visible. He laughed when Stregoni whipped around, the blue-gray eyes going wide.

"Brey!" Stregoni explained. "Well, I never! No one told me you were due to arrive. That brat Camilla, she probably wanted to surprise me."

Aubrey attempted to smooth down his messy, light brown hair, moss green eyes meeting Stregoni's as they drew even. "No doubt, knowing Milla," Aubrey said with a smile. "So tell me everything, Stregoni. What have I missed? How is my sister? Father? My damned cousin."

Stregoni's face abruptly clouded, pain flashing through his eyes, before he smiled through it and recovered his levity. His fingers reached up to touch the pin nestled in his neck cloth, a beautiful enameled pink rose. It stood out bright against the dark cream stock, a lovely compliment to the deep forest green of his coat and the black winter cloak. "Your sister is doing relatively well, all things considered. I have put her on a new medicine, and I go today to see how it has performed this past week, see what adjustments might be made. Your father is your father," Stregoni said with a shrug. "Your cousin…" He grimaced, and again touched the rose at his throat. "Gille only grows worse with every passing year, I swear."

"I cannot say it surprises me," Aubrey said with a sigh. He had managed mostly to forget about his damned cousin.

Just days after his twelfth birthday, his cousin Gille had come to live with them. Why, no ever said. To this day, Aubrey did not know. So far as he knew, Uncle George was alive and quite healthy, though he had always been an odd recluse who never left his own estate.

Perhaps he was too much of a recluse to tend his own son; Aubrey simply did not know. Nor did he really care, as Gille had always been a brat with a bit of a mean streak, who strove to ensure he made no real sense to anyone.

Of the family, he was the only one who bothered to move about society, travel to the city every other Season or so – and if he wanted to travel, Aubrey's father certainly took no issue. It was only Aubrey's freedom to do as he pleased that Lord Sangre curtailed as best he could.

Scowling, Aubrey switched the direction of his thoughts. "Is there anything about which I should be warned?"

Stregoni winced. "Actually, there is – and it did not make sense to me until I saw, and now I'm afraid it is all too clear."

Aubrey groaned. "What?"

"Gille left two weeks ago on a trip for which he would not give details. Not unusual – but he returned yesterday with a new Pet, and said only it was not for him, but a present for 'someone special'. I should have known he was being an ass, but he sounded so sincere…"

Once again pain flickered across Stregoni's face, and Aubrey wondered at it, but it was gone so quickly he half wondered if he was imagining it. Even if he was not, he sensed Stregoni would not explain it.

Then Stregoni's words actually struck him. "A Pet? " he echoed. "Never say they have purchased a Pet for me."

"I think they have," Stregoni said, voice sympathetic. "Most would consider it a marvelous gift." He paused, then spoke again more hesitantly. "He's quite handsome…"

Aubrey grimaced. "I don't care if he's the most beautiful man on the face of the planet, I do not want a Pet." His mouth tightened at the thought of being saddled with a Pet. Not that he had any right to complain – as Stregoni had said, most would consider a Pet a fine gift indeed. Knowing his father, no expense had been spared in the acquisition, and while there was much fault to find with Gille, his sense of taste was not one of them.

No doubt the Pet was quite up to Aubrey's tastes, though how his father and Gille had known his tastes in such matters, he shuddered to think about.

Still, he had never liked the concept of Pets.

Pets hailed from a small country far to the south, originally. A strange race of human-like creatures that did not need food as did ordinary beasts and men, but blood. Human blood was best of all, though until they were sold they survived on animal blood.

This was because once a Pet fed on the blood of his owner, he ceased being able to drink any other form of blood. His body would no longer digest it properly. Once this new Pet drank Aubrey's blood, he would be required to feed on Aubrey or die of starvation.

Aubrey hated it.

Though they were bred and raised across the world now, the finest Pets still came from the small country of their origin, where they had long ago been subjugated and enslaved by the humans there. Kept as Pets in their native homeland, after the blood dependency quirk was discovered, the popularity of it had slowly spread across the world.

Any nobleman worth anything had a Pet.

His mother had possessed a Pet. His father had one now, a pale-skinned beauty named Elisabeth. Gille had one, a younger man. Handsome, as Aubrey recalled, too severe to be truly beautiful. Brown hair so dark it nearly looked black, with strange eyes the same shade of purple as monkshood. Not an eye color found on any human, which was why it stuck in Aubrey's memory. Francois, was his name. Aubrey had never liked him.

"I suppose it's far too late to turn around and say I'm not returning after all," he said with a sigh.

"Too late," Stregoni agreed cheerfully. "You are the ally which I have sorely needed, and I am not letting you out of my sight again for a very long time. That aside," he continued more seriously, "your sister could use some more company. She swears she gets along quite well with Gille and your father, but I know you would do her far better than any tonic."

Aubrey nodded, putting his anger away to deal with later. He was glad to be home, he was – he just wished that there were not already matters cropping up to sour it. "I still do not want a Pet."

"Well, make the best of it," Stregoni said peaceably. "Unless you can somehow manage to talk him out of it, your father had settled the matter. Perhaps the new Pet will become a friend, that happens more often than anyone cares to admit."

"I suppose," Aubrey said, shrugging the words off. "Tell me about yourself, Stregoni. How is the business? Your mother? Discover anything new? Acquire some new patients?" He winked. "A lover?"

Stregoni looked away, shrugging in his turn. "No lover," he said tersely. "A few new patients, though the kind that want an easy remedy to everything. That Marquis that lives a day or so from here has requested my services for his child a few times now, though I'm afraid he has a breathing problem that is not curable. Still, I try." He smiled as he turned back. "Thanks to your sister, I have access to the best herbs and flowers in the country."

Aubrey returned the smile. "That is Milla; I'm sure it makes her happy to help where she can." He sighed softly. "So nothing has been discovered as to her illness?"

"No, Brey, and I'm sorry for it. She simply seems to have been work with a weak body. I think it is her heart, but cannot say for certain." Stregoni spread his hands in frustration. "I will never stop trying, but…"

"I know, Stregoni," Aubrey said, taking one leather-clad hand in his own. "It wasn't an accusation."

Stregoni squeezed his hand, then let it go. "Come on, we're nearly home, and you can see for yourself that she is as fit as she can possibly be – and probably in her prettiest dress, because her big brother is coming home."

Aubrey smiled, and pulled up the hood of his cloak once more before chasing after Stregoni, who had bolted ahead, laughing as their horses raced down the path.

They stopped before a house that was probably the oldest in the region, and had belonged to the Bathory family had first been granted the Sangre title.

Sangre Manor was beautiful but somber, a house built of dark stone, settled deep into the thick forest that consumed much of the region. The stone was of deepest gray, holding a faint gleam when the sun struck it properly, looking like something out of a penny-dreadful when the moon was bright. Deep blue shutters and a like door, with dark marble steps leading up to it.

Far to the right, near the small pond filled with white and orange fish, was the stone bench half-buried by a weeping willow where he had so often sat as a child.

Further beyond that was the footpath into the forest where had often 'run away' before dark and fear forced him back, to try again another day.

On other side of the house extended part of the greenhouse, an undertaking which was nearly as large as the house itself, boasting a garden that was vibrant no matter the time of year, always warm and friendly, and the only one of its kind in all the country – possibly all the world, though Aubrey did not know for certain.

He knew only that it made his sister happy, that she loved it as much as their mother once had – according to various sources, anyway.

As they drew up to the house, the front door flew open and a whole gaggle of people came spilling out – servants to the last, and with a sharp words from the head butler, they all lined up neatly.

Dismounting, Aubrey moved to address them, but before he could say a word more figures stepped out of the house, and the words caught in his throat with nervousness.

His father had aged five years, but as always he aged with dignity and grace. His hair was mostly gray, now, but much of the light brown exactly like his own still remained. His eyes were light blue, and age had not diminished their sharpness. Unlike Aubrey, he stood tall.

The only person as tall as his father was his cousin Gille, whose mouth was curved in a smirk that Aubrey had not forgotten in his absence. Gille seemed unable to shape his mouth in any other way. Of course, it could be because the smirk rather suited his cool beauty. Gille was everything Aubrey was not – tall where Aubrey was short, fashionably sparse where Aubrey just avoided being stocky, stunning where Aubrey had turned out merely ordinary.

Like Aubrey and his father, Gille had light brown hair. He wore it long, however, and like now it was most often braided, tied with a ribbon. His clothes were the very first of fashion, and like Stregoni his cravat pin took the shape of a flower – a red peony. They were a strange contrast with his jade green eyes, the bold and delicate colors clashing…and yet on Gille, it somehow worked.

"Father," he greeted slowly, hesitating.

"Aubrey, it is good you are home," his father said quietly, voice as level as it ever was, giving nothing away. There was no way to tell if he meant the words, or how he meant them.

Before he could say something, likely something he would regret, a last figure appeared in the doorway. She was the spitting image of their father, but with all the feminine touches. Only the fact she was weak and sickly kept Camilla Bathory from being a true beauty of society. She would be a diamond of the first water, if only she were healthy.

He moved quickly up the steps to embrace her, kiss her cheek. "Milla, it is good to see you again."

"Brey, you're home," Camilla said, kissing his cheeks, squeezing him tightly. "It's so good to see you again."

He hugged her again, and held fast as he turned to greet the servants and accept their expression of excitement and pleasure at his return. Finally he faced his father and Gille again.

"Cousin," Gille said, still smirking. "I see you brought the good doctor with you." His eyes slid briefly to Stregoni, standing silent nearby, then slid back to Aubrey. "We have a gift for you."

"So I heard," Aubrey said. "I do not want him."

"One does not refuse gifts," his father replied, face and tone implacable, but somehow Aubrey knew the matter was over before it had begun. He would accept the Pet, and that was that.

Stifling an urge to mount his horse and ride off back to school, he allowed Camilla to lead him into the house.

Inside, it had scarcely changed at all. The paintings, the marble floor and costly rugs, the crystal hanging from the ceiling…little things were gone, replaced by others, but the overall affect was as though he had not been gone more than an afternoon.

Nearby stood two men and a woman.

The woman was his father's Pet, the pale and beautiful Elisabeth. Aubrey had rarely spoken to her growing up, though she was always kind when they did cross paths. She rarely left the suite of rooms that belonged to his father, and usually did so only at his father's bidding.

On her left stood Francois, as beautiful and creepy as Aubrey remembered. He did not spare that Pet a glance, though he felt the cold chill of purple eyes upon him.

His full attention, however, was quickly stolen by the one Pet he did not recognize – his Pet.

Beside him, Camilla murmured something, but Aubrey did not catch the words.

The Pet was beautiful, there was no denying that. He did not have Gille's cold, dark beauty though…no, he was all warm tones and colors. Tall, but next to Aubrey everyone was tall really. Still – he would not come up past the Pet's shoulder.

His hair was the color of beeswax, cropped extremely short and seemingly fine, delicate whisps of it clinging to his cheeks and forehead. The skin was smooth and flawless, and ever so faintly sunkissed, lending a further impression of warmth.

By stark contrast, his eyes were so dark Aubrey could not tell their color. He was also dressed head to foot in black. Severe, but he wore it well. The oddest thing about his appearance was that he wore no neck cloth. Instead, a startling amount of skin was bare, the worst of it covered up only by what Aubrey realized was a collar – a popular affectation inflicted upon Pets.

Perhaps in jest, affixed to the black leather collar as a cravat pin. Flowers must be in fashion, for like Stregoni and Gille, the Pet's pin was in the shape of a flower – a vibrant, beautiful forget-me-not.

The Pet stepped forward, and sketched a deep, elegant bow, not quite rising as he lifted his head to look at Aubrey.

Event his close, he could not tell the color of the Pet's eyes. They looked almost black, except he could see the pupil's quite clearly.

Aubrey realized he wasn't breathing. Shaking himself, he stepped forward.

"Master," the Pet murmured.

"What is your name?" Aubrey asked. If he was going to have a Pet, then he may as well accept it with dignity. He had learned the hard and painful way that making a scene only hurt himself.

The Pet smiled faintly. "Ruthven, Master."

"Ruthven," Aubrey repeated. "You must already know I am Aubrey."

"Yes, Master."

Aubrey nodded, and extended his right arm, wrist up. "Welcome, then."

"I thank you, Master," Ruthven murmured, and for a moment something hot and bright flared in his dark eyes. It made Aubrey shiver, though he could not put a name to what it was he had seen.

Then his wrist was taken up in one gloved hand, the black satin warm against his frozen skin. He shivered again as he caught a hint of the long, sharp fangs, and bit back a cry of pain as they sank into his skin.

It was the strangest sensation, and not one to which he would ever grow accustomed. Only humans, he thought, would decide it was fashionable to have their blood sucked.

As easy that, he was responsible for the life of another. If he died, so too would Ruthven. He stood immobile as Ruthven finally rose to his full height, licking blood from his lips. What was he supposed to say or do now?

"Thank you, father," he said stiffly after the silence stretched on.

"Gille picked him out," Sangre replied, coming up to stand beside Aubrey, eyes on Ruthven. "He is lovely. Suitable?" He asked the question, but it was clearly rhetorical.

Aubrey nodded in reply anyway. He looked at Gille, but did not offer any thanks. From the expression on Gille's face, he had not expected any.

A bell rang, and Sangre held an arm out to Elisabeth. "Come, dinner is ready. We will eat as a proper family for the first time in too long."

It was a rebuke, as well as a tacit order that Aubrey would not be permitted to leave home again.

"Home, sweet home," Aubrey muttered to himself, then gave Camilla his arm and followed his father to the dining room.





A/N: For those that remember and care, any and all flower references are taken from The Language and Sentiment of Flowers. So if you look elsewhere, and the meaning seems odd, it probably doesn't match up with what I'm using.